


tranquil days

by Cressara



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cressara/pseuds/Cressara





	tranquil days

“Do you think I’ll ever find a boyfriend?” The question floats off my lips and hangs in the air for a while between me and the man whose lap finds my head resting on it. My eyes run back and forth along my phone screen as I scroll endlessly, desperate to kill the time. I’d almost forgotten I’d asked the question when I hear him pose his own. 

“You’re asking me... if I think that anyone who didn’t _ have _ to would willingly spend their time with you... out of love?”

“Well, yeah.”

The silence comes again, and I move my gaze upward to find him staring down at me. When our eyes meet, he raises an eyebrow and then turns back to his own phone. “Fat chance.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say.” I let another moment pass in silence before I lock my phone and lay it on my chest as I suddenly remember my second burning question. “Did you eat that casserole I made you last week?”

“It’s _ casserole _, Cress.”

I shoot a glare up at him, but his eyes stay put on his phone screen. I sigh and roll my eyes, pushing myself up off of him and the couch, trying to make my way toward the kitchen through mountains of garbage and dirty clothes. "Yes, it's a _ casserole _, Nhir'a," I shoot back, a tinge of annoyance in my voice. "It's not gonna kill you to eat something I make for once, unlike all that trash you buy." I open his fridge and sure enough, the dish is still sitting right where I left it. I grab it out and begin to shovel it into the trash, the frown ever-present on my face. At this point, I should just start bringing his portion to the orphanage.

I set the casserole dish in the sink and fill it with soap and water, calling over my shoulder to the lump on the couch. "Could you at least wash this for me? I have to get to work."

"Yeah," calls back a voice that obviously wasn't listening. If murder wasn't illegal, I'd have killed this lousy excuse for a brother several times by now.

I finish drying my hands on a kitchen towel that is surprisingly in its place, and go to put on my shoes. The garden shop isn't far from my brother's apartment (which happens to be next door to mine, much to his disdain), so I usually walk. I sling my purse over my shoulder and call to him as I step out the door, "see you later, loser," which elicits another non-response. I guess he's either really into whatever he's reading, or just ready to get me out of his hair. The door latches behind me with a click, and I can hear the lock turn behind me -- sure, he can get up and lock the door, but not give me a hug goodbye.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to make sure I'm still doing good for time, then I start making a grocery list. Surprisingly, going to school for baking and dessert design hasn't killed my desire to do it in my free time, despite what everyone told me. I think about making a cheesecake for Nhir'a, since it's his favorite and his birthday is soon, but only if he joins me for a real meal. His eating habits seriously worry me, but it's not like my worry alone has ever made him change anything he does.

I push open the door to Fucha's Flora, followed by the familiar jingle of the bell, and I spot a tiny blonde woman waving in my direction. "Oh, hey Cressara," she greets me, already moving away from the counter to hand off her position to me. 

"Hey, Meara. Fufucha's not here today?" It was more of a statement than a question, considering she hates working Wednesday night shifts. Then again, so do I, but no one sees me complaining. 

"Oh, you know how she is," the blonde replies airily, handing the store keys over to me. Her wedding ring sparkles proudly up at me, its purchaser clearly having spent more money than Meara or I could ever make here, combined. I wonder why she even works here when her wife is more than well off, but I guess some people just aren't content to sit at home. I, on the other hand, would never turn down that type of lifestyle, but I doubt Meara's wife is taking applications for a second spouse.

"See you tomorrow -- oh, you're off tomorrow, aren't you? The day after, then," The blonde pulls open the door and gives me a little wave as I make myself comfortable in a chair at the counter. "Be careful," I reply, returning her wave. She takes off, the bell ringing her exit behind her.

I have a few hours ahead of me to kill, so I take out a notebook and start to doodle ideas for desserts I could try to make, and forcefully feed to my friends and coworkers. Just as I start to lose myself in it, the bell at the door signals the arrival of a tall, dark-haired man. I set my notebook to the side and begin to stand up, preparing to help him find what he needs, since he looks pretty lost.

"Howdy," he greets me, his southern accent thick and sweet like warm honey. Never in my life have I felt my heart stop just from someone giving me a simple greeting. It's apparent I had waited too long to respond and maybe looked at him strangely when his inviting smile suddenly turns nervous. "Y'all _are_ open, right? Hope I didn't misread the sign."

"No," I blurt out, then shake my head, my face flushing red. "I mean, uh, we _are_ open -- um, I mean, it's just me, but." I straighten my hair with my fingers, attempting to look busy. "Yeah... are you looking for something in particular?" Miraculously, I finally make my way around the counter and approach him. I can tell he tries to stifle a laugh, and I feel heat in my cheeks once again.

"I'm just lookin' for some type of fertilizer for my pa," he replies, thankfully not bringing attention to my blunder. I try to remember the last time I heard anyone use the word "pa" in this coastal city. "Do you know the brand, or what he's trying to tend to?" I ask, gaining my composure. 

"I'm not really sure. He told me it'd be in a green bag with a blue label at the top." So, in other words, half of what we have in stock.

"Uh, well," I trail off, walking toward the fertilizer shelves. "Here's everything that matches that description." I motion to the bags in front of me, watching him look over the selection. I begin to fidget with my fingers nervously - I'm not sure what it is about this guy that makes my heart thud with anxiety, but God I wish it would stop. 

I notice him pull out his phone and work out a text while he rubs his chin in concentration.

"Sorry 'bout this," he muses, looking up at me from the screen, and I feel weak again when our eyes meet. Such a pretty shade of deep blue. "Guess I shoulda asked more questions." He rubs the back of his neck. 

"It's okay, this happens all the time. Fertilizer is a lot more complicated than it seems." I flash him a small smile, trying my best to ease him.

"Well, thanks for helpin' me anyway, Miss..." I see his eyes scan me for a name tag, which Fufucha hates.

"Cressara," I offer, giving him a reassuring smile. "Most just call me Cress, so you could too, if you like."

"Cress," he repeats, as if fully committing it to memory. I feel shy, which I suppose he notices as he turns back to his phone and frowns. "Guess he's still at work. I could just come back tomorrow." 

"No, that's okay!" I say a little too loudly, waving my hands as if it were the worst idea I'd ever heard. After all, I'm not going to be here tomorrow, and obviously I need to see this thrilling chase to its end - that's all. "You could stay and wait for a while... we're usually really slow at this time. You won't be intruding... um, not that I thought you would be. That is, if you don't have anything else you need to..." I cut myself off at the sound of his soft laughter, and I place a hand to one of my reddened cheeks, turning my gaze to a potted plant next to my shoulder.

"I will, if it ain't too much trouble."

"Y-Yeah..." I motion to a chair on the outer-facing side of the counter. "Feel free to have a seat." I let him cross first before I take my spot behind the register, and I see his eyes wander toward my open notebook, but it seems like he's too polite to pry for details.

"It's for school," I give him a smile.

"Oh," he seems surprised that I had caught him looking, or maybe that he hadn't fully registered what he was doing just yet. "Are you in art school?" He offers in response.

"Art? Oh, no," I let out a small laugh, finally feeling comfortable with him. "I'm studying to be a pastry chef. I know it's not necessarily the most glamorous dream," I admit, my shoulders falling inward as I start to feel a little vulnerable, "but it's what I've got a passion for. Might as well make some money doing it." I watch a smile unfold across his features, and I feel reassured, giving him one back. Just as he's about to respond, I hear the ring of his cell phone.

"Pardon me," he states, turning his body to dismiss himself from the conversation as he picks up the phone with another "howdy." I take myself from the counter, not wanting to eavesdrop, and go to work on watering some of the potted plants. We pass a few moments like this, his one-sided chatter filling the otherwise silent shop. I hear him end the call with an "I love you," which makes me feel a pang of jealousy for the half-second I forget he's talking to his father. _What the hell is wrong with me tonight?_

"Sorry, about that," he says, and I snap back to attention as he pockets his phone. "Turns out he was just tryin’ to tend to some flowers. I imagine that won’t be too hard to find?” 

"Not at all." I turn back around to fully face him, folding my hands in front of me. "There are a few different types for that, but they mostly do the same thing. I'll show you," I give him a brief wave of my hand to motion for him to follow me, although it isn't much more than a few steps away in this tiny storefront. "It's these few right here on the bottom." I kneel down in front of the selection, running my fingers along the packaging until I begin to pull a few slightly off the shelves so he can have a closer look at the different types. When he finally catches up and joins me in a squat, I can't help but notice just how close he is. _Knock it off,_ I think to myself, my brow knitting for a moment in slight frustration at my strange behavior so far tonight.

"I think this one'll do just fine," he states eventually, pulling it the rest of the way off the shelf and standing with it. I watch him move for a moment before pushing the other bags back into place, then I stand and brush the floor dust off my pants. "If it ain't right, he can live with it."

I giggle a little, finding this man's impossible journey to procure some fertilizer quite entertaining. "I'm sure it'll be okay. Like I said, they're hardly different." I pause for a moment before asking a question. "Was that everything you needed?" My heart sinks at the prospect of losing his company, even though I know it's selfish. He's just a customer here to purchase a product, and I've been taking it way too far, getting attached way too quickly, just like I always do. It happens like this every time, and when I inevitably set myself up for failure, I still allow myself to feel hurt. _Stupid._

"I also just needed 'ta buy a bouquet." He sets the bag on the counter then dusts his hands off. Those bags haven't been moved in quite a while - wait, a bouquet? My cheeks burn again. I guess I was right, that I _am_ getting my hopes up over nothing. Why do I always so helplessly imprint on complete strangers?

"We have freshly cut ones right in that cooler window to your left," I reply, trying now to retain my professionalism, since it seems that is the only type of dignity I have left. "They're all the same pricing, so just pick whichever one you like best." I try to refrain from admitting aloud that I know they're for someone else, someone actually important to him.

"Perfect," he utters mostly to himself as he turns to slide open the glass door of the case, carefully browsing the selection before placing it next to the bag of fertilizer. I walk behind the counter and get the register up and running again, since the computer had put itself to sleep in the time we'd been doing absolutely nothing of importance. I pull a clear glass vase out from the cabinet beneath the register, a complimentary gift to anyone who purchases a bouquet. Fufucha says it's because most people don't think about needing something to put it in until after they've already given the gift, which is quite practical thinking from someone like her. Not that I'm really one to talk on that front.

I place the flowers into the vase and then slide him a tiny packet of plant food. "You should add that and some water to it whenever you're ready. It'll keep them fresh for a while." It must be off-putting, how closed off I'm becoming now, but I find it hard to care about appearances when I've already made myself this much of an embarrassed fool. I notice that his smile from before has become more of a serious straight line, and then I find my own doing the same. I have no right to miss seeing it, but I can't help myself from feeling that way. I should get myself mentally evaluated after this mess of a night. I rattle off the total to him, then process his payment in what has become the most mundane and painfully regular transaction of my entire life. Not that work was ever truly that exciting in the first place, but I rest my case.

"I hope you have a pleasant night. Feel free to come by again if you need anything else," I state after I finish wrapping up the vase in thick paper and place it in a carrying box, the flowers staring up over it at me teasingly.

"I will." He replies, slinging the bag of fertilizer over his shoulder and taking the carrying case with his free hand. "Thank ya, darlin'." My heart crawls up into my throat at his choice of nickname, but I try to swallow it back down as it's probably just what he calls everyone. Regardless, I find myself frozen until he's halfway out the door, before I realize-

"Wait!" I call out against my own will, nearly tripping over a cord as I try to make my way around the counter. I catch myself with a loud slap of my palm on the smooth top, and I barely breathe an "ouch" as I half-jog the rest of the way up to him to close the distance. I hear him make a questioning noise at the sudden commotion as he looks back over at me, one eyebrow raised my way.

"I didn't... get your name." I admit it rather quietly, since it's not that I ask customers this question often. "I mean, I told you mine. I just thought it was only fair that if you came back again, I could-"

"Turin," he tells me with a laugh, and my cheeks alight the same color of the peonies in his bouquet.

"Oh- well, um," I press the tips of my pointer fingers together restlessly. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I'm sure I'll be seein' you again, Cress," he shoots me a reassuring smile before making the rest of his way out of the door. I stand there for a few moments after he leaves, lingering in the confusion of my own feelings, and then I take my seat back at the counter.


End file.
